


Consequences

by definehome



Category: White Collar
Genre: D/s, Humiliation, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/definehome/pseuds/definehome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patience is a virtue</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consequences

“Ziegler.”  
At the single word, spoken clearly and without hesitation, Peter froze. His eyes shifted to Neal’s face for confirmation.

“Adolf Ziegler.”

Behind the strain of breathing not quite under control, there was a hint of hurt accusation Neal’s tone. Peter had to resist quirking his lips, as Neal tried to play some game to his advantage. But they were done playing, at least for tonight. Peter reached across Neal’s naked chest to release the cuffs, first his right hand, then his left. He took care to lean close enough feel the heat radiating from the expanse of skin, just starting shine with the first hint of sweat and exertion, but not quite close enough allow even the briefest contact.  
Neal held his position, arms above his head and stretched towards the bedposts, even as Peter sat beside him weighing the leather in his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, carefully, his voice backed with genuine concern. If he’s misread the situation... well it’s always possible that he’d made a mistake.

“Just... there has to be another way.” Neal slipped his head to the side, and twisted an arm so that the side of his face was pillowed against his bicep.

“It isn’t supposed to be pleasant.” Peter pursed his lips. “You safeworded because you don’t like how I decided to punish you?”

Neal held his gaze, silent and passive, but oh so very far from submissive. Peter nodded. “That’s fine, then the punishment can be that we’re done for tonight.” Peter slipped off the bed and took two steps to where his shirt lay folded on an occasional table.

“Overkill don’t you think?” Neal grinned ruefully, lowering his arms and visibly checked the urge to rub his wrists. “Stopping everything and denying us both just because your cuffs can’t hold me.”  
Peter pulled on his shirt and wandered back to the bed, leaving it undone. He didn’t deny the bulge in his slacks, or his slowly cooling arousal. Elizabeth might be willing to right things for him, and even if she wasn’t, he’d find relief in the shower.

“The cuffs aren’t the point.” Peter let his right hand trace a line down the inside of Neal’s bare leg, savouring the sensation until his fingertips came to rest on the anklet. “You stay where I put you, because I want you there. The restraints only are to help you remember.”

### 

 

“Ziegler.”

It had been weeks. Weeks of a Neal pliant to his touch and cooperative in his hands, but still dancing to a base beat of his own devising.

Peter laid the tawse on the bed next to Neal’s prone form and clamped down ruthlessly on his own arousal. He made sure though, that it was right in Neal’s line of sight, close enough that the scent of the leather might tempt Neal with the promise of what submission could offer, if he’d only let Peter set the rhythm.

“You can’t ask this of me.” Neal let annoyance creep into his tone. “What we do, it’s not supposed to matter outside the bedroom.”

“And it doesn’t.” Peter assured him, warming some arnica cream in his palms. “But you can’t expect the truths of our life to fall away at the door to your loft. I’m demanding this because it’s you. You may not want me to, but you need me to. So choose to end this, or choose to face it.”

“Adolf Ziegler,” Neal snapped in his disbelief.

Peter stifled his disappointment by soothing the cream in Neal’s ass, it was still early days. Neal just let him work for a moment, and Peter slid his hand in slow gentle circles, soaking up the heat abused flesh that was crying out for still more attention.

Eventually, he placed a second, steadying hand on the smooth muscles of Neal’s shoulders, but Neal shrugged it off.

“I thought you were leaving,” Neal spat, and rolled over and off the bed.

Peter pulled his hands back and let the work of buttoning up his shirt calm and order his thoughts. “I have a report in my bag that I need to edit. Do you want me to stick around?”

Neal straightened and turned away towards to wardrobe, the sculpted lines of his back hiding a dick that was still flush and tight to his groin.

“I said you we were done playing.” Peter settled onto the couch and pulled a folder out of his briefcase, his eyes drinking in the view of the strips he’d put on Neal’s ass, and acknowledging the tension in the set of Neal’s shoulders. “You lost count, as a consequence the game is over for the evening.” Peter shrugged, and then carefully considered his words. “One mistake doesn’t mean I’m going to take off on you.”

### 

“Zeigler”

Neal threw up his hands and retreated to the sofa. Peter nursed a beer at the table, in the same spot he’d occupied since June had let him up to the loft early, past the hour they had agreed to meet and straight through to Neal’s very tardy arrival.

“G-d Peter, why are you so fixated on this?”

“It’s called punishment Neil,” Peter shrugged, and took a swig of his beer, knowing Neal’s were fixed on his mouth and his throat. “Although since none of this is mandatory, the point is less to correct behaviour than to illustrate my power over you.” Peter tipped the neck of the bottle in Neal’s direction. “Power, which I might add, you give me willingly.”

“You’d enjoy it.” Neal raised his eyebrows accusingly

“Yes,” Peter admitted, unashamed.

“You’d get off on it,” Neal pressed, and shifted so to optimize Peters view of Neal’s languid body. It was oh so tempting to just forget it, to call a do-over and start the evening again. Neal had only just arrived.

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Peter pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah, I probably will.”

“Would,” Neal stood, and paced over to Peter at the table. “If I did it.”

“When you do it,” Peter corrected, and enjoyed the shiver he saw rippling in the fine material across Neal’s back. Peter knew, in all reality, that he couldn’t go back and selfishly pretend to restart the evening .

“I suppose this mean were done,” Neal sighed. Peter held up his beer and examined the liquid level against the light of the windows. Oh, he’d had such plans. Then he squared his attention on Neal and tried to rid his mind of anticipations or expectations.

“It’s your call.”

Peter held Neal’s gaze, and watched paradigms fighting across a face more transparent than Peter had ever seen it. He wanted it, he needed it, and he still, still couldn’t let himself have it. Peter stayed silent and allowed the saccadic movements in Neal’s eyes to calm and said nothing as the lines of Neal’s lips curled into the mask of a smile.

“Adolf Zeigler,” Neal sighed, and hitched his pants up before squatting down in front of the wine rack.  
Peter’s lips quirked and he allowed himself a smirk which he killed as Neal stood with his selection.

It was the closest they had come.

Tomorrow was another day.

### 

Peter could see the hint of a ‘Z’ forming in the shape of Neal’s breath and the angle of his hips. He could see the word form and catch in the back of his throat, and then die as his chest rose and fell in unison with Peter’s breaths.

“Tell me why,” Peter hummed, almost whispered, at Neal’s splayed form, the tip of his dick snugged at the stretched and slick entrance to Neal’s body.

Neal’s face was as red as his cock, and his lips twisted first in displeasure, and then as Peter’s thumbs ghosted across the slit, elation. Peter canted his hips gently, to increase the pressure on Neal’s hole, not enough to breach the entrance. Neal tried to push back but was held firm by Peter’s grip.

“Show me you want this Neal,”

Neal’s fingertips scrabbled at the headboard as he struggled to keep them high and away and exactly where Peter had pressed them into the bedding. His breaths came short and shallow and a whine formed instead of the consonants and vowels his tongue was trying to form.

Peter captured Neal’s breath with his lips and swallowed in the noises, pressing their chests together and holding Neal safe, pushed into the mattress by the weight of his body. Peter felt the moment when Neal relaxed, and accepted what he couldn’t change.

Peter pulled back slightly. “Tell me why,” he demanded one more time of Neal’s closed eyelids, and felt his cock twitch in the anticipation of success. Blood rushed to Neal’s face, and Peter could hear the hesitation as he spoke. But in a voice that strained and pitched against the rewarding slide of Peter’s cock, Neal answered.

“Theft is wrong because...”


End file.
